


A Very Wintersend Tradition

by samzillastomps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps
Summary: When the party finds itself in Denerim during a very special time, a certain eager young warrior decides to share his nostalgia with his favorite mage. A fluffy one-shot featuring Alistair fumbling over whether five boxes of Christmas sweets is too much or not enough.





	A Very Wintersend Tradition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allisondraste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisondraste/gifts).



> To Allison, whose Amell is a delight, and who I really hoped to do justice for ☆⌒ヽ(´ε｀ ) It's up for interpretation where this falls on the timeline of their relationship, but I would place it somewhat in the new stages ( ˘ ³˘)♥
> 
> Holiday carol inspiration taken from [Wendy aka heretherebedragons](http://heretherebdragons.tumblr.com/post/39346219846/the-visiting-song-a-dragon-age-holiday-song-a)

It took him a minute to realize what was special. Alistair was trailing near the back of the group as they walked through the gates to Denerim, intent on restocking on supplies before they made their way west, and he paused when he was hit with the realization that something was not as it should be.

It was bothersome, but not in a bad way. That tickle at the back of his mind was different from the one that plagued seemingly every single waking hour as they plowed forth against the Blight.

_Not a sign of danger._

_More like a memory._

With a start, Alistair realized it was nostalgia. The smell of cinnamon sticks brewing in hot mulled wine on the street corner; the scent of oranges on the shop counters, stuck with cloves pricking their citrus skin; the aroma of sweet maple cakes and hearty vegetable stews.

It was the perfume of Wintersend, and the city was positively awash with it.

Alistair could feel his face lighting up, his eyes glancing quickly about as his lips split in an unconscious smile. By this time, everyone had crowded into the marketplace throng, gone their separate ways with their own lists of things to buy and do and see. Alistair looked for Lucia where she’d stood to his right, but she was nowhere to be found. He twirled backwards, caught sight of only Sten, who merely raised one disapproving eyebrow in Alistair’s direction. Completing the circle and coming back to face forward, Alistair glanced over to where Wynne was haggling politely with a merchant about blank runestones.

_Wintersend already._

_And in the city!_

_What better luck could we have!_

“Wynne-”

“Not now, Alistair.”

“But have you seen-”

“Dear, you can always explore on your own. I trust you not to get lost,” Wynne said pointedly, and Alistair shut his mouth with a cross between amusement and frustration.

_Wanted to ask where Lucia was._

_Not if you wanted to accompany me._

_But, hey, pardon me for detracting from a sale you might get cheaper._

He raised his arm to signal to the senior enchanter he was leaving, and she nodded curtly. Alistair wove through the various marketplace booths and storefronts, staring up above more than was particularly helpful as he navigated his way through the crowds. Above the stalls, where fabric and signs normally flew, were glimmering tinsel and decorative plants. The smell was of pine and nutmeg, then vanilla and brown sugar, ever-changing as he strolled.

After a moment, he was drawn to stalls nearby that had carvings of toys with children gathered around. It seemed his favorite mage was drawn there as well; he thought he could see Lucia standing amidst the crowd, watching the show.

“Beggin’ yer pardon!”

_Oh, damn._

“Sorry, I thought you were my- someone else,” Alistair said with a wry chuckle. The woman he’d come very close to hugging was definitely not Luce, and she seemed aghast he’d even put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. He tried to offer her a conciliatory smile, to try to apologize further, but it seemed to make her bristle further.

The woman quirked an eyebrow and pulled away, trailing two young children behind her that seemed to be very upset at having been taken from their show.

And it was quite a show. Stepping forward, Alistair could see that this stall was not a mere toymaker’s stall. It was set up with a performance of a puppeteer, complete with a little music box tinkling out a Wintersend melody to the delight of the small throng of little ones.

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips again. Nostalgia, warm and foggy like steam off of cider, welled within his breast. When was the last time he’d spent a Wintersend exploring Denerim? How long had it been since he could indulge in the more ridiculous aspects of the holiday, not spend it praying with the Chantry sisters or looking back nostalgically on it with his fellow Grey Wardens?

Alistair shook his head lightly.

_I shouldn’t be distracted._

_Gotta find Lucia, after all._

Still. Watching the marionette work its magic on the crowd of little girls and boys crowding at its counter was heartwarming, made even more so by the chimes of the Wintersend bells from the Chantry behind, and the soft dusting of snowflakes that had begun to fall in the evening breeze.

A woman laughed, holding her child aloft on her hip to reach for a dangling sprig of holly, its berries iced in what looked to be glimmering edible snow, and Alistair remembered his purpose.

_Where is she?_

Distracted for but a moment, Alistair wanted to gush aloud about this. Needed to, in fact. It felt compulsive, almost, the happy words that bubbled behind his tongue, and the only one he wanted to clasp excitedly to his chest while he gestured around at the wreaths, the glitter, the shiny baubles and decorative icings… was Luce.

“You look lost,” a little voice behind him chirped.

“Not lost, per se,” Alistair said, shifting to allow Leliana room to look at the marionette dancing before them. He heard her coo excitedly, and for a moment thought to himself that she would share in his holiday excitement.

_She would but… it wouldn’t be the same._

“Have you seen Lucia?” he asked her, leaning in close to speak over the din of the crowd.

“Yes.” Leliana glanced sidelong at him, grinning catlike as she did so. “She said to make sure you did not follow her, and she would meet you back at the tavern in an hour.”

Alistair’s heart sank into his chest.

“She… didn’t want to walk around? Take in the market?” He could hear the twinge of hurt escaping in his voice. Maybe for a Circle mage, this was overwhelming. Or too ridiculous. Something he’d been so excited for in the moment now seemed burdensome; maybe she had the right idea, and it was better to get the errands finished and try to-

His thoughts were cut off when Leliana nudged his shoulder hard enough to throw off his footing. She sucked a tooth as he gathered his feet beneath himself once more.

“She told me you would make such a face,” Leliana muttered, “but I didn’t know it would be so pitiful!”

“Pitiful?” Alistair repeated in a singsong, trying to redirect so he didn’t flush from the shame of being read so easily. “Have not heard that one in a while. You sure you weren’t thinking of the word ‘handsome’ instead? ‘Mediocre’ perhaps?”

“Look.” Leliana trained him with a level gaze, her eyes narrowed. Alistair shut his mouth, keeping a smirk at its edges, and Leliana gave a little sigh. “I was sworn to secrecy that I wouldn’t tell where she was going. But you might want to take advantage of her absence to find her an appropriate,” she pushed him slightly away from the toymaker’s stall, on towards where shiny baubles lay in the more expensive part of the market, “memento for the season. Hint, _hint_.”

Alistair swallowed heavily, and gave Leliana a lopsided grin.

“You think she’d like that?”

Leliana did not smile back at him; instead, she flinted her eyes in playful suspicion.

“You have given her gifts before, right? You’re courting her, are you not?”

“Um,” Alistair paused, thinking back to the preserved rose, and the way her eyes had lit up. Inspired, he clapped Leliana sharply on the shoulder in gratitude. She gave a little yelp, one borne most likely of surprise and not pain, but he winced anyway. “Sorry,” he muttered, already turning to run off. “Thank you, Leliana!”

He didn’t hear her response. Didn’t need to, really.

_I get to shop for Lucia._

_If she isn’t walking about the market, I’ll bring the market to her._

At first, the prospect of wandering around by himself hadn’t been entirely appealing, but now that he had a mission, Alistair relished the opportunity.

He began first by finding a little leather bracelet with an inset stone braided into its design. It was thin enough to not be gaudy, and inexpensive enough that should she hate it he could probably return it for the same amount. It was silly, perhaps, but its color reminded him of her eyes. How bright blue they could be, how clear, how inspiring.

It only occurred to him later that a reminder of her own eyes might not be what she might like to wear on her wrist, but by that point he had already walked away from the shop. Plus, what small amount of pride he had prevented him from going back immediately and exchanging it.

Next, Alistair gathered his favorite sweet treats, taking care to avoid the more bitter of the darkest chocolates. There was one in particular he spent probably a bit too much coin on, a chocolate wrapped in gold foil that was the size of a ripe orange, and smelled of its essence. It was a Wintersend staple, he was willing to have a lighter wallet for the sake of seeing Luce’s face when she unwrapped it.

His third gift to her was a better cloak, because with all of this frivolity, he got the impression that Lucia might need something rational and worthwhile for him to have spent his money on. Orange-shaped chocolates aside. The cloak he got her was a sturdy fabric, most likely a thickly woven wool painted with a waterproof coat of wax along the hemline, and lined with rabbit fur at the hood. It would keep Lucia warmer than her current cloak, the one she’d been wrapping about herself since summertime. When the clerk folded the gift up neatly, she tucked a tiny sachet of what seemed to be dried flowers and spices in the center.

_A nice touch._

_Hopefully Lucia isn’t allergic to anything._

Finally, with his arms beginning to feel a touch full, Alistair stopped by a carpenter’s booth and grabbed up a few decorative ornaments that wouldn’t hinder them once they left the city.

When he was bartering for their worth, the shopkeep offered to throw in some other Wintersend decorations, including a small wreath and several scented tea candles in various burgundies and pine greens.

Alistair tipped the man, forfeiting the part of the bargain where he got more items for less coin, but he left feeling spirited and brighter for having gone.

_And really, that’s what this is about, right?_

_This entire season._

_The end of winter, the celebration of a new year almost upon us, and we do that by being good to one another, by spending time with people we love._

He swallowed hard, coming close to an implication he didn’t want to realize. With a bit of effort, he tamped it down, refocusing on the ideas of chocolates and holly sprigs and little carved wooden toys.

As he was walking back to the tavern, his imagination conjuring up memories of puddings and tarts he’d gotten the leftovers of as a child, Alistair didn’t notice Lucia at a booth right nearby.

Luckily for him, she never looked up from her own mission, seemingly engrossed in whatever booth she’d stalled at. They barely breezed past one another, too intent on their own shopping, their own missions, to think of the other even though the other had not left the forefront of their minds.

Therefore, when Alistair stepped into the tavern and walked back to where they’d rented their rooms, he knocked on the one he and Lucia were to share. He figured she would have beaten him back; she was more adept at accomplishing a task in less time than he, she was good like that. Good at staying on track.

“Luce?” he called, adjusting the weight of his gifts and decorations in one arm to knock harder. No answer. He decided to press his luck hard. “Oh Lucy?”

That would’ve gotten her dander up if she was inside, no matter if she was pretending to be gone or not. There would have been a scoff, or a door opened to reveal a glaring little Lucia standing before him. Something. The silence was real, Alistair decided, and so he unlocked the room with his own key and set down his items with a sigh.

“Got a few minutes to myself,” he said aloud. “Might as well take advantage of it!”

Grimacing, he realized he’d spoken to nobody.

_Festive and foolish._

_Oh, might as well lean into it._

Before he could second-guess himself, Alistair began to hum a wintry little hymn beneath his breath. It was a bit embarrassing at first, even with no-one around, but as he began to arrange the various candles and trappings about the room, as he gathered the little pile of gifts he’d bought into a corner, it grew natural. More verses came to mind, words he remembered, and he sang them softly at first, trying to let his brain take the melody and conjure up the images as he arranged everything perfectly for Lucia’s arrival.

When the knock at the door came, he didn’t hear it. He was singing too loudly, too busy stacking the five boxes of butter cookies he’d bought into a tower-like arrangement, to even notice.

The second knock, along with a soft, “Hello in there,” still didn’t break through the spirited, spellbound singing Alistair had finally succumbed to. He was trying to decide if the chocolate orange would be better placed at the top of the tower, or beside it. He put it up top, tilting his head this way and that, when he realized he wasn’t sure how the next verse in the song went. He was about to repeat the last, in hopes it would jog his memory, when a soft, tentative female voice took over and finished the third chorus for him.

" _Bless all who dwell inside this house, a_ _dults and children, too. A_ _nd small Mabari puppies, t_ _hat round the table go."_

He knocked the chocolate orange to the floor as he whirled, but Lucia caught it with her foot before it could roll out the door.

“Wow,” she said quietly, glancing about the room as she set down her things. “You’ve been rather busy in my absence.”

“What are you talking about?” Alistair said, and a mischievous grin broke from his lips. “Room’s always looked like this. 'Tis the season, as they say.”

“Oh, they say that, do they?”

“You aren’t allergic to anything in particular, are you?” he asked, looking to change the subject. Lucia, to her credit, seemed like she was not going to roll her eyes at his inane question. She merely shook her head, and the relief he felt in his chest was palpable.

“You’re a big fan of Wintersend, I see,” she commented quietly. “Bigger than I thought.”

Relief trickled away from him, gone as soon as it had come, and Alistair fumbled for his words.

_Did Leliana steer me wrong?_

_No. She wouldn’t… would she?_

“I… do you… are you not? A fan, I mean?” Alistair asked, grimacing a bit at how lame it sounded to ask such a thing aloud. “I’m not sure how the Circles would have celebrated, but I always liked the atmosphere of it. The smells. The songs. The treats.”

“Mmm, I do agree with you there. The season carries a certain something special with the winter ending.” She moved over to the tea lights, a light smile playing across her features, and then her gaze drifted to the wreath he’d hung and the little wooden ornaments set up on the fireplace mantle. Her expression brightened. “Alistair, seriously, what is all this?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, and he could feel his emotions already swinging wildly back to pleasure in her presence. “Why? Do you like it?”

“Of course,” Lucia said, making her way to the fireplace. “Oh, look. Little carved mabari. All lined up in a row.”

“That one has red kaddis designs because he’s the leader,” Alistair said proudly, walking over to wrap her in a hug from behind as she examined his efforts. “Also because he was the only one left in that style of carving that I could find.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Did you decorate with figurines, back home?” he asked, intent to get her to share her expectations, to get her to open up. He still felt so nervous, his eagerness manifesting in too fast a heartbeat and too sweaty a palm.

“In the Circle we had wreaths, but none as fresh as this. Smells…” she inhaled, and he could feel her chest expand. As she thought of the word, Alistair let his nose and lips fall to her shoulder, breathing in deeply the scent of her as well.

_Was that…_

_Did she shiver?_

“Smells like a lot of outside,” she finished, her voice steady as ever, if not a bit low.

“What’s that to the right of the fireplace?” Alistair hinted. He pressed gently into her as she walked, guiding her to the corner by the hearth where he’d stacked all of her gifts.

“Look at this,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Ah, well, you know-”

“No, really, Alistair,” Lucia turned in his arms and gave him a look that somehow embodied both sternness and happiness all at once. “You should have saved your money. Too many gifts are unnecessary. I, for instance,” she reached into her cloak just as he was about to take her rebuke to heart, and pulled out a little box. “Only bought you the one.”

“You bought me something?”

“Where’d you think I was going when I had Leliana tell you not to follow?” she asked. “I wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I hadn’t thought that,” Alistair chuckled.

_I mean, I did, but no reason to admit that and ruin the mood._

_Done well so far, keeping my feet out of my mouth. No reason to shove one in now._

He glanced down at the box, and she pushed it very gently into his chest.

“Open it.”

“But your-”

“Open yours first,” Lucia insisted. “Seeing as I have so many to get to, I don’t want my single one to pale in comparison.”

Alistair was about to protest further when he saw that Lucia’s jaw was set. She looked focused, and for a woman who did not grow nervous, who was sure of herself and confident, it was as close to a peek past her veneer as he could hope to get.

_Is she worried that I won’t like it?_

_Or that it isn’t enough?_

Alistair sank to the floor, and it didn’t take Lucia but a moment to take to her knees with him. Together, to the right of the fire, they readjusted their trappings and got comfortable, and Alistair sat the little box on his knee.

It was a thick, mint-colored paper, folded nicely into a hexagonal box shape, and it weighed of nothing.

_So it must be delicate._

Careful not to squash it, Alistair unfolded the box as best he could. He ended up tearing a corner, but as the edges fell away, it revealed a little glass-encased flower.

No, not really a flower, more like a plant.

It had green leaves, hanging in a soft little bushel together, with white rounded buds at its top. The glass sphere coated each and every leaf in its crystalline globe, and at the top of the glass bauble was tied a thin, golden ribbon for hanging.

It was an ornament, containing not merely the plant itself, but also what looked to be an iridescent sparkly powder that moved when he shook the globe in his hand. It caught the light as it settled, conjuring up the imagery of magic and mystery.

“Is this-”

“It’s a Wintersend tradition, right?” Lucia interrupted, her voice low.

Alistair glanced up at her, his eyes questioning, and she dipped her head low. Through her lashes, she cast her gaze back up to his, and Alistair’s breath cut short in his chest at the glow of her, the way the fire framed her dark hair from behind, the way her expression was hinting at some unseen vulnerability now that they were alone.

“What is?” he asked. “Hanging ornaments?”

He was unaware it was a stupid question until he felt her fingers tangle with his to take the bauble from him.

She stood for a moment, but rather than watch what she was doing, Alistair sighed deeply at the rug and tried not to bite his lip. He forced his hands to relax on his thighs, forced himself to straighten his posture up a bit and not slouch before her.

_It’s still going well._

_When she sits back down, you tell her you love it._

_The gift, maybe her._

_No, don’t say that, it’s too soon, you-_

Lucia sat down in front of him once more, but her gift was nowhere to be found. Alistair searched her lap for it, then her hands, her face, and she gave a little chin tilt upwards to hint that he should keep going.

Above her, attached to the lip of the mantle, overhanging to the side of the fireplace where they were sitting by the presents, was the little bauble.

“Mistletoe,” Alistair breathed. Or mouthed. He wasn’t quite sure what noise escaped him, his heart was beating too quickly in his ears.

_She put it above her._

_Above HER._

_That means-_

_Oh Maker._

_She wants a kiss._

_She wants a kiss from me._

_Me?_

_Maker’s breath._

“I know it’s still kind of early for such things,” Lucia said, folding her hands in her lap with a faint sigh, “but I thought that your rose gesture was a kind one. And I looked all over the city, but they only had these blighted fragile things, we might not even be able to take it with us, but I just wanted you to-”

Alistair caught the last edge of her words on his lips, pressing forward into her space just enough to caress her mouth with the softest of kisses. Luce, his dearest, his inspiration and fondest companion, she sighed against him and parted her lips ever so slightly. The noise of her surprise was a faint and delicate little _oh_ that he kissed away, and he felt the pressure of her mouth against his, the reciprocity of her affection. She tilted her head, and he brushed her lips across hers more firmly, one hand coming up automatically to cradle her cheek, to feel the fullness there and slide back towards the nape of her neck.

It ended too soon, and yet he found himself breathless. Sitting on the floor, staring at Luce so close to him, her eyes still closed and dark lashes still falling against her cheeks, Alistair felt the same way he had in the market.

_Strange._

_Is it possible to be nostalgic for something new?_

_Or is it that she makes me feel renewed, bright, excited in the same way Wintersend does?_

“It’s absolutely a tradition,” Alistair whispered roughly. Her eyes blinked open, and he cleared his throat before adding, “One I am absolutely prepared to indulge in at your leisure, my lady.”

“Good,” Lucia said with a smile. “For a moment I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I’ve never seen mistletoe encased in glass like that, is all,” Alistair fumbled. “Do you think it’s real, or fake?”

“I’m not sure,” she said as she leaned her cheek against his palm. “Either way, it seems to do the trick.”

Alistair felt a goofy grin spread across his lips, but before he could dip down to kiss her once more, Luce gestured to the cookie tower he’d made for her.

“Are these mine, then?” she asked, her voice perhaps a touch less steady than usual. Alistair nodded, his heart swelling as he moved back to allow her room to gather her presents to her lap.

As she opened them one by one, indeed begrudging that only the cloak was of necessity, Alistair marveled at the feeling still lingering in his chest from that one single kiss. He decided that Wintersend festivities came second only to seeing her smile, like this, in the comfort of a small, sparsely decorated room in the back of a probably less-than-reputable tavern.

_Traditions have to start somewhere, don’t they?_

_Maybe this is ours._

_Mine and hers._

And with the two of them alone and comfortable, with a mistletoe bauble hanging sweetly just above her on the fireplace, right next to the mabari with the antlers, Alistair knew that next year he’d get her something better. Something sweeter.

There would definitely be a next year; he would make sure of it.


End file.
